A Reprise

 

Somehow I always find it hard to believe summer will become winter, and winter will become summer. It's becoming fall now. It hasn't been truly hot since the heavy rainfall this weekend. I have been thinking about NaNoWriMo. I have never competed successfully two years in a row. Yet there's no reason for me to bow out now. I have the time, and I have the story. I've scarecely written ten pages of prose put together since my novel last November. I don't know what I'd do without this challenge to keep me going. And now I have one more NaNo Livejournal community to keep me going. Though I have cancelled all my other social accounts, I have become truly needful of Livejournal. The journals and communities are so well-aligned with my interests. A lot of costume and artful blogging and photography. I took some pictures of Marguerite yesterday. What a mess. Not only can I not remember how to take photos I can't remember how to edit them. My photos got noticeably be

“I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears. Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me.” Christina Rossetti Sunday morning our road was too waterlogged to allow us to get to church safely, and we had to turn back. We spent a busy day at home that seemed to last forever. I made bread and ironed and put up our laundered curtains, which now look fresh and new. Saturday night’s sleep was savory and deep. When I woke, my mind was rested, my heart at peace. Over breakfast I read the words of Christina Rossetti, the poem of which I quoted the first stanza above. I realized that I have not been the first person alive to suffer spiritually, to say the least, to suffer doubts because of what I experience in the world. Even the voice of logic in my mind for weeks has

What a man most wishes to hide, revise, and unsay, is precisely what literature is waiting and bleeding for. Jack Kerouac

Picture was taken by Nathan yesterday morning. When I arrived home this afternoon, Henry came down the stairs to greet me. I couldn't believe what I saw in his face -- simplicity, humanity, warmth. As I looked directly into his face and tried to shudder off the day I was thunderstruck by the fact that my cat is saner than many people I know, and I mean this sincerely. I don't have to hide any weakness from him that he will pounce on, I don't have to hold a boundary firmly in place with him. He is a self-contained peaceful being. As I met his gaze I felt really awkward, knowing at that moment he was more clear-headed than me. Henry has faults and weaknesses. He wants to attack Princess. He wants to eat the canary. He knows these impulses are wrong, and he works on them. We have seen him (and laughed at him) warring with himself. But this puts him miles above most human beings I have met right there. I know very few humans right now who are visibly working on themselves. Most

The barista swept the dishes, napkins and crumbs from the table in a graceful gesture. Cassandra watched him, peering over her cup of masala coffee. The note of cardamom was strong, slightly bitter. She concentrated on it rather than on her unsteady nerves. "Everything all right?" "I think so." She took a deep breath. "I hope I get this job." He smiled understandingly. Cassandra looked at him appraisingly. There was something about his smile remarkably un-stunning. Perhaps he was a human after all. She didn't know why, but it gave her a slight relief. Humans were complicated enough in their own way. "Why did Dr. Thorn interview you here, rather than at the lab?" Cassandra was crestfallen as she realized she had been trying to avoid asking herself that question. Perhaps Dr. Thorn hadn't had an official reason to turn down the interview and had gone through something hurried and informal out of obligation. Then she reminded herself of the d

I am wracked with confusion. Though nothing in my outer world has changed unexpectedly, my inner landscape is a wasteland, devastated by some war of which I was not even aware. I knew when we moved to our new home that I would embrace a new life, and I had the sense that I would embrace my inner longings for a new religion. I didn't anticipate the way everything would get all torn apart though. I am torn between loyalty to a comfortable and repressive faith that would more deeply connect me to others, and a faith that promises to dishevel my life with controversy, isolate me from others and color me with stereotypes. It is a matter of how I can bear to live. Can I bear living with an inherited faith, fighting down my own convictions, for the rest of my life? Can I bear becoming even more isolated from the rest of the world, my own family, perhaps even my husband, even being stigmatized? I do not want to abandon the personal faith I have felt as a Christian, the world understanding

I spent the rest of the evening cleaning the bathroom closet -- I am putting my sewing stuff here. As vast as the closet is, it is now completely full of my stuff. I spent the twilight hours ironing in the kitchen. That is one of my favorite things to do now. I really enjoy the dishes, but ironing is better. I saw Reginald outside across the yard once it was dark. He was lying as usual in that strange uninhibited way of his, as though every inch of this property is his sofa.

Yesterday was a lonely day but a productive day. I hit the ground running after work, took on crickets, beetles, spiders -- still troubling over the ethics of vacuuming up something alive? cruel? -- and while I worked I heard a strange rattling sound outside. I stared out the window transfixed. The very last thing on my mind was rain -- it hasn't rained in so long I actually forgot that it happened -- and I stepped out into my first rain in our new home. I went out to the covered shed, which is my favorite outdoor place, but the rain became so intense that the sound on the tin roof was deafening.

The same feeling of protection always comes over me when we are in the pine woods again.

My heart is burning as I imagine being home. I don’t know its nooks and crannies, I really don’t know its noises in the middle of the night – but I will. There’s an old bird’s nest I salvaged from the hedge I desperately want to cut down. I have been keeping it in the shed for a month now waiting for picture time. It’s made with scraps of plastic, styrofoam and string – an amazing feat. We hate ourselves for the trash we make – but I think that bird really appreciated its sturdy nest. I was awed. There’s a little cat who lives in the pasture and barn like a wild thing – wild but needy. We have named him Reginald. He’s small but huge – huge paws, huge head – white with gray and black mottling in places. We had glimpsed him but only at a distance. Like a little rabbit when our presence was revealed to him he fled. However our first night he came into the backyard and sat, crying to us through the kitchen window. When we went out to him he fled, but we left him food and water. Later w

Looks like we're all set for a wedding.

I wonder where they lead.

My favorite stop between Ft. Worth and Metairie. This time I got fish n' chips. It was great!

I bet you thought I died! It's been a busy week, let me tell you. Henry and I are enjoying the front view with freshly-brewed mint tea, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and vitamins. I am exhausted, but I am coming to life again. I can feel the stirrings. I am emerging from my silent, thick-walled room of contemplation to begin sharing what I have felt in my inward sojourn. I thought my spiritual questions were just a lark, an outpouring of anxiety and stress in the midst of this life change, that they would be forgotten, my little journal abandoned or repurposed in a while. However as soon as I find myself with inner space to think I find myself returning to my spiritual studies.